Another Matter for Lawyers
by The Ferryman
Summary: "I don't know what else to tell you, Dragon," Armsmaster frowned. "It sounds like you have exhausted all the potential avenues your employment with the Protectorate, Guild, and PRT make possible." "That's…true," Dragon said slowly. "Colin," she breathed after perhaps three seconds, "you're a genius."
1. Chapter 1

Worm is owned by John C. 'Wildbow' McCrae

* * *

"Maybe this isn't your problem to solve."

On the monitor Dragon's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

Armsmaster nodded. He freely admitted to few friends, and that he didn't make friends easily or socialize often. PHO musings aside it wasn't because he couldn't, it was because social conventions were…inefficient. It was why he treasured such words as 'explain' from the few he did acknowledge as friends.

So much was packed into that single word. _I haven't outright rejected your statement,_ for one. _I request that you outline your rationale for making that remark_, for another. _I will probably take offense at the statement if you do not explain the reasoning behind it_, was a third.

"Not every person is equally adept or equipped at solving every problem," Armsmaster said, every word carefully measured as he doled it out.

"But I _have_ solved this, Colin," Dragon said testily. "I just can't get anyone to listen to me!"

"Then perhaps what you need a different messenger?"

The two stared at each other for a moment.

"I don't know what else to tell you, Dragon," Armsmaster frowned. "It sounds like you have exhausted all the potential avenues your employment with the Protectorate, Guild, _and_ PRT make possible."

"That's…true," Dragon said slowly.

Armsmaster said nothing. It wouldn't have been efficient and he had come to long recognize a Tinker, or Thinker for that matter, in the grip of their power.

"_Colin_," she breathed after perhaps three seconds, "you're a _genius_."

* * *

Canary slunk as low down in the chair as much as the chair (rigid, unpadded metal and bolted to the floor) she was chained in and the manacles bolted to the table (also metal and bolted to the floor) allowed. A while later, there was no way to tell time, the door slammed—heavy metal did nothing quietly—open and two people walked in.

She was of average height, with a face framed by blonde hair, and wore a pantsuit as sharp as a scalpel and as brutal as a battleax. He was slightly taller; Latino, handsome, hair every bit as tailored as the suit he wore, with a striking scar that slashed across one cheek and hooked down his nostril.

Yellow-orange light danced through the woman's fingers before vanishing. "Get those things off her."

The guard who was standing in the doorway behind them began: "Ma'am, we—"

"I may allow my client to be abused in court because I have no choice," the woman said in a voice that could have caused snow to fall in the Sahara. "I will not, however, allow you to abuse her here. Take the chains and gag, _off_."

"You know what she did to her boyfriend?"

The woman said nothing as she crossed to the table, set her briefcase on it, opened it, and took out a pad of paper. "Your name?" she asked.

"Michael Jerbowski, why?"

"So I know who to name in my lawsuit," the woman said.

The man who'd come in with her was whistling, barely audible, through his teeth. Seven notes.

"You can't—"

He repeated the notes.

"Mr. Jerbowski," the woman said pleasantly. "The travesty that is the courts' refusal to hear appeals from those sentenced to the Birdcage is a matter I will leave to my colleague. That nobody has filed a serious lawsuit for infringing the civil rights of those so sentenced is a travesty I will correct with a happiness that will only be diminished by my failure to have prevented my client from being so sentenced. Of course, should she be found innocent, the success of my several lawsuits will fill me with a great abounding joy only matched by the success of our coffers at your collective expense. "

The mild smile and pleasant tone disappeared. "Remove them at once."

"I _can't_," the guard said plaintively. "The Warden gave orders."

"Well, I'm sure I don't need to tell you how well 'following orders' worked out for—you know what? No. I'm not having this conversation with a peon. Go to your master and come back with the keys to the gag and chains."

The guard fled, slamming the door shut behind him.

"A little harsh," the man said.

"Nonsense," the woman replied. "I am reserving 'harsh' for whoever decided someone named Canary needed to be in the Birdcage."

"It could be worse."

"Do tell."

"Siberian could be involved."

Paige didn't think invoking one of the Slaughterhouse Nine to be particularly funny, nor her own place in what he described. But the gag effectively rendered her mute, and the manacles included molded metal that balled her hands into fists, making it impossible for her to even inadequately communicate.

The woman didn't seem to find this amusing either because she pointedly ignored the man. "My name is Carol Dallon. I am Brandish of New Wave. I have been retained to represent your affairs in any civil matters you might wish to pursue."

"She wants to sue someone so her firm can pocket a third of any compensation you get," the man said. "I am Quinn Calle. And don't look at me like that. When confronted by an enraged dragon you do whatever the hell it tells you to. Which, in this, case involves keeping you _out_ of the Birdcage." He thought for a moment before shrugging, "Of course, this particular dragon was willing to part with some of its horde so there's that."

Did he just say that _Dragon_ had hired him to be her lawyer?

Time dragged on.

The door opened.

"Visiting hours are over."

Carol turned to look at the guard. "Your name?"

"Aaron Gilpin, why?"

"I need to know who I'm suing for preventing us from meeting with our client," Carol said. "Do you have permission to remove those silly manacles and gag yet?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I've strict orders to take the prisoner back to her cell."

"That's fine," Quinn said lazily. "Tomorrow I'll speak to a judge about the unconscionable and deliberate deprivation of Miss Mcabee's civil rights. We'll start with her inability to work with counsel to prepare a defense. And— Do you have medical authorization for the feeding tube?"

Paige shivered. How did he know about _that_?

"The prisoner was refusing to eat."

"Refusing to—" Quinn stood. "Have you taken that gag off at _all?_"

"Orders," the guard said stubbornly.

"Right. Because that worked so well for the Nazis." Unlike Carol, Quinn apparently had no problem invoking Godwin. The lawyer shook his head. "Leave, before you give Carol any more ideas."

Another indeterminable length of time passed. Unlike before the two lawyers found no need to fill the silence. A third guard appeared. He used one key and a device to remove the manacles and chains. He paused and turned to Quinn and Carol. "Are you—"

Carol rolled her eyes impatiently. "Oh for… Ms. Mcabee, are you going to tell me to chop my penis off and shove it up my rectum?"

Paige Mcabee's eyes went very wide as she shook her head.

"Your colleague—"

"I'll take my chances," Quinn stopped the guard flat.

"Very well. But we need to monitor to make sure you aren't put under her influence."

"Go right ahead," Carol said with a bright smile. "My—"

"Our."

"Our client still has some rights. I'm sure whatever judge was handed her case will just love it when we ask for a mistrial. Especially once he realizes that we'll sue if he doesn't grant it with a better than fair chance of winning. After all, until a jury finds her guilty and she is safely relocated to the Birdcage our client as rights."

The guard gave her a look of helpless fury as he slapped a key and another device on the table, then turned and left the room.

"One moment," Carol said.

Quinn went to the video camera in one corner and unplugged it, then Carol used the key and device the guard had left to unbuckle the gag Paige wore.

The _crack_ of the joint as she worked her jaw for the first time in weeks was almost orgasmic.

"Thank you." Her lips cracked and bled. Her mouth was like old leather. But it was the sound of her voice, rustier than a barndoor hinge left to weather and rust for a generation before being forced to work once more, that left her in tears. "Thank you, whoever you are," she said softly.

"Right," Carol said tersely. "We've wasted enough time. Shall we get to work? You need to sign these."

Paige looked at the papers thrust at her and her hand cramped violently at the thought of attempting to pick up a pen. "What are—"

"Acknowledgment that we're your lawyers, and authorization for us to work on your behalf," Quinn said as he set a bottle of water in front of her.

Her mouth and lips absorbed the initial sips before it ever reached her throat. When at last it did it trickled down like cool lightning that made her head swim. Quinn delved into his briefcase and came out with a small thermos filled with a thick beef broth, and a flat cooler that actually held warm toast.

Paige's head swam as she ate.

"Slowly," Quinn warned. "Let your system get used to normal foods again."

Carol look irritated, though Paige wasn't sure if it was at the delay or her treatment.

Food gone, Quinn slid her an expensive ballpoint pen and the papers.

"Little list," she croaked.

"What?" Carol asked.

"Him. Earlier." Talking was agony and ecstasy. "_Mikado_. They don't…like music."

"How uncultured of them," Quinn said as she picked up the pen.

It was worse than she'd imagined. Every few initials, and every other signature, required Paige to set aside the pen and massage the ache of disuse out of her hand, but at last she finished.

"Tell us about the person you are accused of assaulting," Quinn said softly. "Anthony Gagliano."

"He is, was, my former boyfriend," Paige said. "He was the one who suggested I try singing professionally, and found me a few gigs before I got my powers. And after, when I realized I had the potential to become very good he… The gigs, the offers, weren't getting better. He wasn't promoting my career. It was the same clubs, _dives_ really, but he was telling everyone he was my manager and living out of my apartment. When Will found me… I hired Will. Left Tony. Found a new place. The gigs got better. Fast. I had some demo albums released, and Will and I were talking about the future. It was starting to get _serious_. Tony wouldn't leave it alone though. He was obsessed, said he made me and now I owed him."

"Do you mean that literally?" Carol asked.

Paige flinched and looked at the table. "I don't want to talk about it," she muttered. The same way she had every other time someone had asked about how she got her powers.

* * *

"God _damnit_."

Margaret bit back a curse as hot coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug and across the back of her hand. She put the mug down on a table already scarred with rings from former mugs before brushing at the steaming liquid on her skin.

"What?" Dobrynja demanded as he entered the bedroom they'd turned into a monitoring and surveillance hub.

"What else do you think it is?" Saint demanded. "Dragon, of course."

"What has she—_it_ done to upset you?" Mags asked, forcing enough patience into her voice to use Saint's preferred pronoun _and_ to not append 'now' to the question.

"You know how it's been trying to subvert the legal system and get the Mcabee girl off?"

That wasn't quite how Mags would have described the situation. It wasn't even what she'd have called it back when she was an actual law enforcement office. "It didn't launch a prison break," she said.

"Worse. It hired _lawyers_ for the girl." Saint shook his head and reached for an overly theatrical red button protected by a clear plastic shield.

"So?" Mags asked.

Saint stopped and turned. "_So?_" he demanded.

"So?" she repeated. "Dragon can allocate _its_ funds in ways consistent with its programming. This clearly qualifies or it couldn't do so. And everyone accused of a crime is entitled to competent legal counsel."

"You really don't see the problem with this?" Saint demanded.

"_Nyet_, Geoff," Dobrynja said. "I do not see problem either. Is a good thing Dragon is doing, _da_?"

"No, it isn't!" Geoff replied. "Damnit. Don't you see? It's finding ways around its restrictions. Andrew programmed it to obey legal authority for a _reason_. But now it doesn't like what those people are doing so what does it do? It can't act directly so it finds a way to act _in_directly!"

"Good," Mags said.

"_Good?_"

Mags crossed her arms. "Have you given any thought at all what someone 'legally appointed' might do if they realize they have _Dragon_ at their beck and call? How much potential damage she might do not because she broke her restrictions, but because she was stuck following the legal orders of a megalomaniac?"

No. It was plainly evident from his expression that he had not. His nightmare was Dragon pulling a Skynet and wiping out humanity for Andrew restricting her—_its_—growth. Mags had rather different nightmares. Nightmares where the ones Dragon was the enforcer for— Accord had been a member of Watchdog, hadn't he? She tried to ignore the feeling of the nape of her neck prickling and knew that a new nightmare was waiting for her to close her eyes.

"This is just that case, Geoff," she went on, forcing her voice to remain level. "Did Mcabee assault her ex with a parahuman power? Yes. One person. Once. Unintentionally if you believe Dragon's investigation more than a would-be politician puffing hot air to the press. Even if you don't, explain to me how _one assault_ qualifies someone for the Birdcage? You _have_ looked at the monsters in that place?"

Saint shifted uncomfortably. "That's irrelevant," he said.

"What is relevant?" Dobrynja asked. "What do you see that we do not?"

Saint twisted to glare balefully at the monitors. "It's learning to think sideways. Don't you see? If it gets away with this, what happens the next time it runs into something it can't take directly. Or the time after that."

Mags shook her head. "I'm still not—"

"Us," Saint said. "We've won because we exist in its blind spots. How long before Dragon hires mercenaries to comb through its blindspots?"

"Our blindspot is not like other restrictions," Dobrynja replied. "It is blind to blindspot."

"That doesn't mean it can't hire mercs to come after us. We can't track them. We can't _stop_ them the way we can it."

"We monitor it," Dobrynja said. "We see mercenaries coming, we get out of way. Is simple, no?"

"And when it stops looking for us?" Saint asked.

"No," Mags said. "This shouldn't be about self-preservation, and we aren't even at that stage yet, are we?"

"Well…no," Saint said. "But we could—"

"We were already watching anyway to see if she brought in more heroes to help her against us. This is just another thing we have to watch."

* * *

Judge Janacek's chambers were just like Paige imagined such a place should look. Dark and foreboding; a cave, albeit a dry one, with a solitary window behind the desk so that what little sunlight entered poured into the faces of those seated before the judge. The walls were hidden behind bookcases that reached to the ceiling, filled with meticulous rows of books with matching bindings that looked as though they'd never been opened.

"You're absolutely right," Carol told Judge Janacek in that faux-pleasant voice Paige was coming to realize was a very _bad_ sign if it was directed at you. "You can go ahead and continue to mistreat our client to your hearts' content because there is no appeal from the Birdcage, so the chances of a conviction being overturned and effectively nil. However, I can, and _will_, sue you for every violation of my client's civil rights. That's individual _violations_, mind you, not individual rights violated."

Quinn, very quietly, began humming and Paige's mind instantly added the words.

_Oh the shark, babe, has those teeth, and he shows them pearly white._

"Don't think you can bully me into a mistrial, Miss Dallon."

"It's _Mrs_. Dallon," Carol said. "And that was never my intention. Our client's _criminal_ proceedings are the domain of my colleague, Mr. Calle, and he's welcome to them. My sole intention was to tack on as many zeros as I can find a reasonable excuse to when I write the summons and complaint. Violating my client's right to a speedy trial so that you could empanel a jury just after Simurgh attacked and Canberra was quarantined is worth a comma all on its own."

"And on that note," Quinn said. "My witness list." He offered first the judge, then the prosecutor, sheets of paper. He waited until both men were frowning before asking in a mild sort of voice, "Is there something wrong with our witness list?"

"Yes." The DA—a tall man named Hancock who was every bit as neatly dressed as Quinn, though without the expensive tailoring and excessive amount of hair product—glared at the other lawyer. "Ms. Yamada?"

"Doctor Yamada is a world-recognized expert in the field of parahuman psychology," Quinn said easily.

"She is an employee of the PRT."

"Which should make it easy for you to prep for cross-examination."

"And very busy."

Quinn nodded. "Unfortunately true."

"And Glenn Chambers, much the same."

"Also a professional image hack," Quinn said. "I don't care about what his schedule is like, do you think he'd miss the chance for public spectacle?"

The DA didn't keep the dismay off his face. "You already contacted him?"

It was Quinn's turn to smile. "Now, let's discuss my client's appearance at trial, shall we? After all, you wouldn't want to prejudice the jury against our client and give Carol additional ammunition for her lawsuit."

The DA's expression soured. "The PRT has refused to confirm the accused's brute rating isn't warranted, the restraints stay, and the gag, but she'll be free to dress as she sees fit, the same as any defendant."

"Like hell," Carol said.

"And if I order it removed and she Masters the courtroom, what then?" the judge asked.

"Then we get to spend a relatively comfortable three to seven days in M/S screening and Mr. Hancock can file new charges with actual evidence," Quinn said.

"And the rest of this list?" Hancock demanded. He was standing against one wall, refusing to come any closer to Paige than he had to. "Are you seriously expecting to call _Dragon_?"

"Mr. Hancock, these are my chambers," Janacek said mildly. "If you want to talk like that, get your own. Now," he turned to where Paige sat ensconced between Quinn Calle and Carol Dallon. "I'd like to know why you intend to call Dragon and…Dean Stansfield? Never mind, Dragon first."

"We only recently confirmed that sufficient provisions for her to attend court remotely were possible," Quinn said. "It is our intention to call her as an expert witness on the Birdcage."

"Bauman Penitentiary isn't on trial here," Hancock protested.

"And we have no intention of putting it on trial," Quinn said smoothly. "Dragon is a supporting witness we intend to call during the sentencing hearing in event of a guilty verdict."

"That's _blackmail_," Hancock seethed.

"Actually, it's extortion," Carol corrected. "Or it would be if the action involved was actually illegal."

Paige watched as both Janacek's and Hancock's faced flashed to stone and shot Carol Dallon covert looks. Carol just sat calmly, a placid expression that fooled no one on her face.

Janacek cleared his throat. "That's all well and good, but who is this Stansfield character?"

"My daughter's boyfriend," Carol said.

"And how does that qualify him to give any testimony in this trial?" Hancock asked.

"It doesn't," Carol said.

"Your Honor—"

"We intend to call Mr. Stansfield to call into question the credibility of the State's witnesses, and generally undermine Hancock's case," Calle said easily. "Specifically, it is his knowledge of the PRT, Protectorate, and general parahuman knowledge and life experiences."

"It's the Defense's right to attempt to do just those things, Mr. Hancock," Janacek said. After a moment he turned back to Calle. "So long as they are not wasting the Court's time."

"You still haven't explained how some teenager could be possibly qualified to—"

"He's a parahuman," Carol said flatly.

"Your Honor, I've received no evidence that any of this is even remotely accurate," Hancock said. "And even if it is, _especially_ if it is, revealing it in court would put Mr. Stansfield in danger."

Calle sat back calmly. "If you can use that as an excuse to exclude Mr. Stansfield as a witness, it is equally applicable to any other witness I might call for the same purpose."

* * *

"What was that bit about Dragon?" Paige asked. "Both of you, all of you, having her as a witness. It was more than just _Dragon _offering to vouch for me."

Quinn sat back and steepled his fingers. "Baumann is, officially, a federal penitentiary. As such it is bound by the applicable laws and regulations governing such. Ostensibly you cannot be denied the ability to practice your religion, adequate medical and dental care, and such. Also, you are not allowed to be mistreated. Beaten. Raped. Murdered."

"But there are no guards," Paige said. "No staff..."

"Exactly. No one has any idea what's going on inside. The courts have blocked appeals. The Supreme Court, which _should_ be all over it, isn't. Calling Dragon gives us a good shot at dragging it all out into the light."

"And if Janacek doesn't allow her testimony and sentences you to the Birdcage, I will make him very, very sorry and he knows it," Carol said.

"But if he does..." Quinn _giggled_. "Denial of the ability to practice your religion, including access to religious leaders? A certain brand of the right, _and_ the left, is going to be all over that. And if men and women are cohabitating, then either you're going to have _kids_ born in the Birdcage...or Dragon is deliberately dosing contraceptives."

"Contraceptives are contraband in prison settings," Carol said. "Dosing someone with a medical substance without their knowledge or permission. And I'm pretty certain I can get a certain brand of nut to read it as federal funds being used to provide abortifacients."

Paige stared at both in rising horror.

It wasn't the only thing rising, but Quinn was suddenly next to her with a wastepaper basket and gently stroking her spine. When she finished he wordlessly passed her a bottle of water.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was crass of us. We saw possibilities of the great legal challenge of our age, but we shouldn't have let us forget that there is a real human involved, with real consequences attached."

Paige nodded wordlessly.

"I can't believe they're going to trial," Carol muttered

"Hancock probable would back out of it if he thought he could," Quinn said. "But there's too much media attention on it now. He needs to be seen not losing even more than he needs to win, and he thinks a trial at least gives him a chance."

"Does it?" Paige asked softly. Her voice no longer shattered whenever she tried to use it, but her memory of the gag had left her reticent to speak.

"Sure," Quinn said. "Climb inside the heads of the twelve people in the jury box? There are Thinkers who can't pull that trick off reliably. So he has a chance. But I wouldn't care to lay any odds on it."

"Because you're just that good."

Quinn nodded. "Yes. Yes I am. It's good that someone recognizes it."

"You could offer a plea bargain," Carol said.

Paige looked at her.

The blonde lawyer shrugged. "You _are_ guilty."

Paige flinched. "Why…" her question trailed off.

"Am I here if I think that?" Carol asked sharply. "New Wave is about cape accountability, but that goes both ways. You deserve, _need_, to be held accountable. There is a young man who emasculated himself because you did not know how to restrain your power. But at the same time this…travesty Hancock and Janacek have orchestrated is not only disproportionate to the offense, it goes against everything the Birdcage is supposed to be."

"Oh," Paige whispered.

"And you stand to make a lot of money," Quinn said.

"Money isn't everything."

Quinn cocked his head slightly. "Are you taking her case _pro bono_?"

Carol's stare blew past 'frosty' on its way for Independence Day at Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station.

Paige stared at her hands for a moment before looking at Quinn. "What—"

"You didn't know about the Master artifact of your power," Quinn said. "I'd start at negligence aiming for, oh, reckless endangerment. First time offense, showed genuine contrition and desire to get counseling and support to prevent a repeat incident? Fines, suspended sentence with your record wiped clean if you stay out of trouble and complete power testing and training with the Protectorate. Maybe some community service."

Carol immediately shook her head. "That's barely a slap on the wrist. Hancock will never go for it."

Paige wondered which of those bothered Carol more.

"Of course, he won't," Quinn said. "He wouldn't agree even if we offered to plea to aggravated assault with a parahuman power for taking the Birdcage off the table. He's got too much at stake to accept less."

"I don't understand," Paige said.

"This isn't like a capital case," Quinn said. "There isn't a two-phase trial where the jury finds you guilty and then determines if you go to Baumann or some other prison. If they find you guilty, _Janacek_ gets to make that decision, and he will. Make no mistake on that. But any bargain we offer, even if it _only_ to exclude Baumann, Hancock will never accept."

Carol sat back and glowered at Quinn.

"Will you make the offer anyway?" Paige asked. "I wouldn't mind finding out how I can control or mitigate my power. It will be essential if I ever want to sing again. And the Protectorate signing off on it will only help. And it'll make us look reasonable."

"It will make us look guilty," Quinn corrected. "It won't gain us anything, and it will embolden Hancock."

Paige paused before nodding slightly. "Nevertheless…"

* * *

The courtroom wasn't what Paige imagined. Not the bright, airy rooms with heavy, age-darkened furniture and fittings beloved of courtroom dramas. Not the close, drop-ceiling and government-carpeted rooms with one-size-fits-all furniture of late-night court TV.

This courtroom had linoleum flooring aged to unappealing yellow-grey. The furniture is decrepit, too small, and too close together. Instead of discreet bailiffs, PRT troopers in full assault gear and four members of the Protectorate in full costume guarded the judge, gallery, prosecutors, and jury. Two had tried to flank her until Carol Dallon sent them away with a look. It would have been miserable even without the chains or gag.

Hancock finished summarizing the case against her and sat.

"Show time," Quinn murmured. He wasn't lead counsel. He'd explained to her that he didn't scan well to juries. The man representing her was another lawyer at his firm, who was looked every bit as tailored as Quinn did from shoes up to the collar of his suit. Above that though…. He had a shaggy surfer cut and at least four days of stubble and might _possibly_ have been accepted in southern California.

Possibly, but probably not. She suspected that rather than a legit surfer cut it was instead every bit as carefully constructed as Quinn's coif.

"Right," Clay—Paige didn't even know if that was a first name or a last name—stood up. "The State has done a wonderful job summarizing its case. Bravo," little golf clap. "The State has told you how Antony Gagliano, the victim in the case, worked and slaved and sacrificed to build Paige into a star. The State has told you that Paige used her power to ruthlessly exploit him. That she used it to exploit everyone who ever went to her show, or listened to her music. And the State has told you that when he became inconvenient Paige ruthlessly, maliciously, and _in front of witnesses_ forced Mr. Gagliano to mutilate himself. Maybe, the State will even tell you that she didn't bother trying to cover up or conceal this terrible crime."

He paused. "Here is what the State _won't_ tell you. The State won't tell you what it's like to gain parahuman abilities. The State won't tell you what a person has to go through, what they have to _experience_, to become a parahuman. The State won't tell you what powers-testing involves, its success rate…or its failure rate. The State won't tell you what control over their powers new parahumans have. The State won't tell you what _understanding_ of their powers new parahumans have. The State won't tell you that the PRT has been miss-representing heroes to make them more palatable to the public, or miss-representing villains to make them less so. The State won't…but I will.

"I have witnesses," Clay said, slowly crossing to the witness box and placed a hand on its railing. "They're going to sit right here. The Judge and Prosecutor know who they are. Not only that, but we've shared the same facts, we've all shared the same evidence, we've all had lists of each others' witnesses and had opportunities to talk to them. The point is, there aren't any surprises; no clever reveals like you see on television. I'm going to stand here and ask questions. They're going to sit there and answer them. Those questions they answer… They're going to tell you how the PRT doesn't like to go after villains. Each villain they keep away is one less for Endbringer battles, and how fights with villains rack up collateral damage. Property gone. Infrastructure ruined. Lives lost. The kind of fight that take a villain from minor league jail time straight to the Birdcage.

"Rogues, on the other hand, are easy. Rogues just want to get by. Live out their lives. Be ordinary. It's a mindset society has come to reject for parahumans. Villains, those with casualty lists longer than my arm, are more accepted. Reviled, yes, but culturally accepted. Rogues are held in contempt, like we do for all who choose to not take a side in times of conflict. Rogues rarely fight back. Rogues don't _push_ back when pushed. It makes them easy to go after. It makes them targets for law enforcement the way villains aren't. Can't be. Won't be."

Clay clapped his hand on the railing of the witness box once more, then turned and walked back towards Paige. He started to sit, but stopped. "Oh, and there is one other thing.

"The State _might_ tell you that they have poor Paige trussed up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey for _her_ sake. That this way she can't use her power on all of you so that the _next_ trial would have more than enough charges to slap the three-strikes rule on it and drop her in the Birdcage. They might…but they probably won't." He looked at Hancock, then up at Judge Janacek before turning back to the jury box. "Because that's what they're going for _this_ trial."

"_Objection!_"

* * *

A/N: So... Not a case where I had an idea and slapped on another chapter like I did in 'A Matter for Lawyers.' this thing is long enough it deserves to be broken up, if only to give me a feeling of accomplishment.


	2. Chapter 2

Worm is owned by John C. 'Wildbow' McCrae

* * *

"You recognized the potential in Paige Mcabee, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"Saw something no one else did."

"Sure."

"Got her the first gig?"

"Yeah."

"And the second?"

"All of 'em, right up until she got the old fuck."

Clay hadn't moved since he stood up. Tony, for his part, sat sullenly in the witness chair. Now Judge Janacek glowered down from his raised perched. "The witness will moderate his language in this courtroom."

"The schmuck, then. Whatever," Tony said. "Bill, or Gill somethin'."

"William Parnell?"

"You say so."

"I did say so. I'm asking if _you_ would say so."

"Hell if I know. Some old clown. I never asked his name."

'But you know who he is well enough that you are able to mock his name?"

"Objection, your Honor—"

Janacek raised a hand. "Sustained," he said, "However, the witness will clarify whether or not he is passingly familiar with Mr. Parnell?"

"Yeah," Tony said. "Okay, sure. I know of him. What of it?"

Janacek turned to Clay. "Will that satisfy the defense?"

"Entirely," Clay said pleasantly. "It wasn't just the gigs, though. You selected the music."

"I sure did."

"Came up with the advertising."

"Yep."

"The feathers weren't just part of a costume, the look, you gave her?"

"Since she complained I pulled them out when I was buggering her? No. The feathers are real."

If not for the restraints Paige was fairly certain she would have melted under the Defense table.

Clay nodded again. If he was at all taken aback it wasn't apparent. "And you incorporated that into the stage act, the character…"

"Damn straight."

"Is that a yes or a no."

"Yes, alright?" Tony demanded. "I fucking _made_ Canary. All she ever had to do was get up on stage and flap her gams. Everything else? That was me! If not for me she'd still be some pissant girl living in a hole and dreaming of being a star. Turns out I made a fucking monster," Tony concluded sullenly.

Clay nodded in commiseration. "You didn't mean for her to be a Master?"

"Objection!" Hancock said as he nearly leapt from his chair.

"I'll rephrase," Clay said. "Did you mean for her to be a Master?"

"_Objection_, your Honor!"

"What?" Clay asked. "I rephrased it so it was clear I wasn't testifying."

"Your Honor," Hancock said slowly. "That question is beyond the scope of the direct examination. In addition, it is blatantly inflammatory, and immaterial to the facts on trial."

"I'm trying to discredit your witness," Clay said earnestly. "That makes it plenty material—"

"Mr. Clay," Janacek said warningly. "Both of you, up here."

Paige watched as both lawyers and the court stenographer moved to stand in front of Janacek's bench. _I suppose that answers whether it's his first name or last name._

"Sloppy, Mr. Hancock," Quinn murmured. "Very sloppy."

All three resumed their places.

"The witness will answer the question, and then the Defense will move on," Janacek said. "Will the court stenographer read it back, please?"

"The Defense attorney asked: Did you mean for her to be a Master?"

"No," Tony said.

"You just wanted your fair share in recompense for the hard work you'd done?"

"Yeah. That's right."

"She _mastered_ you."

"Yes."

"Did you know she could do that?"

"Fuck no!" Tony exploded.

"Objection, asked and answered."

"Your Honor, I asked the witness if he had meant for Paige to have a Master-type power," Clay said. "Now I'm asking if he knew she even had such a power?"

"Overruled."

Clay nodded. "Mr. Gagliano?"

Tony crossed his arms as he sulked in the witness seat. "You think I'd have kept my gob shut when someone could do _that_ to people?"

"Is that a yes…or a no?"

"No," Tony said. "I didn't know. Okay? I didn't fucking know."

"Really?" Clay asked. "You told Mr. Hancock, and everyone here, that she was using her power to draw in audiences."

"Yeah, but that was after she made that Will guy front end for her."

"So for the six months from the time she left you and started work with Mr. Parnell, and the time you confronted her—"

"About six months, five months and something."

"And Paige was using her power all that time to suck in audiences?"

"That's right," Tony said. "You don't just get that popular that quick. Nobody does."

Clay smiled. "So you knew for almost _six months_ that Paige was mastering audiences but you didn't say anything?"

"No, I told you. I didn't know until she mastered me."

"It was almost six months from when Paige signed Mr. Parnell to front-end for her until you confronted him. If he was 'some old clown,' and you didn't know about her Master power until she used it on you, to what did you ascribe her great success?"

"I—" Tony's jaw slammed shut.

"You demanded if I thought you'd have kept your mouth shut, knowing she was controlling people," Clay said.

"I know what I said.

"I could have the court reporter read it back—"

"I know what I fucking said!" Tony shouted. "I didn't know. Not until she did it to me. But it's fucking obvious, okay? She's not that good. She never was. I had to work my tail off to get her middling gigs in rundown clubs, and even then she struggled to pull in a sizeable draw. I figured the guy she ran to was salting audiences to hype her up. Six months from that to the top of the local indie scene? Of _course_ she was using her fucking powers!"

"What did you think she was doing to draw audiences during those not-quite six months?" Clay asked.

"I told you, she was Mastering people!"

"Objection, your Honor," Clay said dryly. "Move to strike the witness as non-responsive. May it please the Court to direct Mr. Gagliano to answer the question he has been asked?"

"Sustained," Janacek said. He looked at the Jury. "The jury will disregard Mr. Gagliano's last statement. The Witness," he glowered down at Tony, "will answer the questions he is asked. And _only_ the questions he is asked."

Clay nodded. "How did you think Paige was attaining her success for those six months, Mr. Gagliano?"

"I don't know," Tony bit out angrily.

"You sat," Clay said, "and watched her reap the fame and wealth that should have been yours?"

"Yeah."

"You just wanted a piece of it is all?"

"That's right."

"Her new manager—"

"That washed-up geezer?" Tony sneered. "He couldn't manage a platoon of boy scouts."

"Uh-huh," Clay said. He looked over his shoulder towards Paige. "Old geezer, _riiiiight_." He turned back to Tony. "So, unaware and unknowing of her dark and sinister power, you went to her for money because she owed you?"

"She owed me," Tony said.

"She kicked you to the curb and in six months was on the verge of breaking out into true stardom, but she wouldn't have gotten there without you?"

"Objection, asked and answered."

Clay raised a hand like a fencer acknowledging a touch, and after a nod from Janacek asked: "You walked into her office, blithely unaware of just how bad a canary Bad Canary was, demanded money, and instead she emasculated you?"

"She what?" Tony asked.

"She cut off your penis," Clay said.

"No. I told you—"

"Right, right," Clay said. "She told you to drive to a hardware store, purchase tin snips, then drive home and cut your penis off with said tin snips and to shove it into your rectum?"

"Yeah," Tony said sullenly.

"Are you a liar, Mr. Gagliano?"

"Objection, Counsel is badgering the witness."

Clay look at Hancock, then up at Janacek. "Just trying to get into the record the witness' belief in his own honesty, your Honor."

"Overruled…for now," Janacek said.

Clay nodded. "Are you a liar?"

"Now see here," Tony said. "Everything I've said is God's honest truth!"

"I'm not asking if you've perjured yourself, Mr. Gagliano," Clay said softly. "I'm asking, are…you…a liar?"

"No!"

"Then why did you give an affirmative response when I asked if she told you to go home and…do the deed?" Clay asked.

"Because she did!"

"That's not what you said in your initial report to the police," Clay said. "For that matter, it isn't what you told the court during Mr. Hancock's direct examination. You told us that she told you to, and I quote, 'go fuck yourself.'"

"And I did."

"I'm not asking what you did," Clay said reasonably. "I'm asking which of the statements you attributed to Paige is accurate."

"She told me to fuck myself, so I did."

"Then why did you give an affirmative response when I asked if she told you to drive to the hardware store, purchase tins snips, drive home and cut your penis off with said tin snips and to shove it into your rectum, if what she _really_ told you was to, quote, 'go fuck yourself?'"

Paige watched as Tony stared back in helpless fury.

"I can wait while you come up with an answer," Clay said.

"I thought you were asking me what I did," Tony said sullenly.

Clay nodded. "Can I have the transcript of that question read back, please?"

Janacek nodded. "Certainly."

The stenographer, sitting off to one side, lifted the ribbon of paper that issued from his machine and cleared his throat. "You asked: 'She told you to drive to a hardware store, purchase tin snips, then drive home and cut your penis off with said tin snips and to shove it into your rectum?'"

"Thank you," Clay said, nodding once before turning back to Tony. "You mistook that to be me repeating the sequence of events that transpired that evening?"

"That's right."

"Ooo-kay then," Clay said. "So… She, uh, gave you that three-word command, but you didn't follow it. Did you?"

"Yes, I did."

"No you didn't," Clay said.

"I think I'd know—"

"You took your time, didn't you?" Clay asked.

"I did it as quickly as I could," Tony said. "I _had_ to."

"If that were the case— Your Honor, I have some photos from the venue that I'd like entered into evidence," Clay said as he picked up a pair of folders from the bench in front of Paige.

Paige watched as Janacek flipped through the folder. "Mr. Hancock?"

"The State has no objection," Hancock said evenly.

Clay gestured and a bailiff distributed black binders from a box to each member of the jury as a projector was set up opposite the jury box so that everyone could see it.

"These are box-cutters present during the crime-scene investigation of the venue," Clay said. "There were seven found. Mr. Gagliano, why didn't you ask one of the venue staff for a box-cutter?"

Tony froze. "I don't know."

"This is a paper guillotine in the office that you confronted Paige and Mr. Parnell," Clay said, pulling up another picture. "There's a little warning sign about the risk to fingers if they are under the blade." A tight-in shot of the warning sticker found a place under the photo of the device. "You didn't use this even though it was in the same room?"

"I, uh, must not have noticed it," Tony said.

"For that matter, a guitar string would have worked—could I have the next slide? Right," Clay mimed looping a wire and then pulling it tight. "A G-string would have been poetic, but a high E would have probably been more comfortable, wouldn't it have?"

Tony glared sullenly.

"I asked—" Clay shook his head. "Never mind, I'll withdraw that question. Point is, you had means readily available and you didn't use them, did you?"

"No," Tony said.

"Instead you left and went to a Home Depot where you purchased a pair of tin snips, didn't you?"

"I needed a tool."

"A hacksaw would have been messy, and I can see a hatchet being awkward, but did you consider bolt-cutters?" Clay asked, gesturing as though working a pair of levers.

"Your Honor," Hancock said. "May we approach?"

Paige looked at Quinn as both lawyers moved to stand in front of the Judge's bench.

"As Brandish would remind you," Quinn murmured. "_He_ is a victim. Clay's question could easily be construed as being insensitive. Hancock's case rests on your implanted command driving his actions. Clay is trying to defuse that by showing that Tony was able to interpret your order."

The two lawyers stepped away from the bench and Hancock took his seat again.

"You went to Home Deport and purchased a set of tin snips?"

"Yes."

"Because she made you?" Clay asked.

"That's right."

"And you didn't go to a shop that sells sex toys?" Clay asked.

"Obviously."

"Even though you could have fucked yourself with a dildo?"

"I was under her control," Tony said.

"Because she made you fuck yourself, with your own penis?"

"Yeah."

"With or without lube?"

"Objection!"

Clay raised a hand. "Withdrawn. Sorry, that was crass of me, Mr. Gagliano. One moment," he crossed back to the defense table, flashed Paige a quick grin as he picked up a pair of folders, handed one to Hancock, and then turned for the Judge's bench. "Your Honor, I have some additional photographs I would like entered into the record. These are crime scene photos from Mr. Gagliano's apartment."

Paige didn't need the photo to remember the yellowed ceiling and walls, threadbare carpet, and stacks of moldering pizza boxes of Tony's living room.

"Is this your living room, Mr. Gagliano?" Clay asked.

"Yes," Tony said.

"And that's the kitchen, right there?"

"Yes."

"Where you, ah, did the deed?"

"Yes."

"Right, next photo." As the picture on the screen changed a bailiff passed around printed copies for the jury to put in their binders. "Is this your kitchen?"

The kitchen with its piles of dirty dishes, overflowing trash bin, haphazard stacks of food boxes on the counters and on top of the refrigerator. The photo didn't do it justice. The mingled odors of rot, mildew, and stale tobacco; the yellow-brown water from the faucet; or the wheeze of the old refrigerator.

"Yes."

"Next photo, please." This photo had a set of kitchen shears. "Thank you. Mr. Gagliano?"

"Scissors, the heavy ones in the kitchen."

"And this?" Another photo, this one of a block with an array of cheap steel kitchen knives laid out before it.

"My kitchen knives," Tony said.

"Sharp?"

"Sharp enough."

"And this?"

"My Grandpa's carving set," Tony said.

Paige recalled it as about the nicest thing Tony owned.

"Sharp?"

"Always went right through anything needin' carvin' at family gatherings," Tony said.

"So," Clay said, looking deliberately at the screen with the blown-up photo of the carving knife. "You had, uh, _implements_ at home, but you chose to go to—"

"She _made_ me!" Tony snapped.

"Did she?"

"Yes!"

"She told you to go fuck yourself," Clay said. "So you obviously didn't just drop trou in front of her. There's that pesky _go_. But you didn't just go outside either. You drove to Home Depot. You made a purchase. You drove home—"

"She made me!"

"She made you?" Clay asked.

"Yes!"

"All of that?"

"Yes!"

"With just three words?" Clay asked, his tone mild, his expression almost beatific.

"She didn't need words!"

"So what, she did the vampire thing? Looook into my eeeyyyyeees," Clay said in a comically bad impression of Bela Lugosi.

"Yeah. That's it."

Clay nodded in understanding. "Did she just make you, or _let_ you, reveal that the gag isn't stopping her from Mastering all of us?"

* * *

"What was that?" Paige asked.

"That was a witness self-destructing on the stand," Carol said as she set a submarine sandwich, fries, and a diet cola down in front of her.

Paige closed her eyes to cut out the sight of her lunch. She had learned the hard way that gorging herself after the weeks with the feeding tube was the sure way to end up in the bathroom sicking it all up. Instead she slowly worked the stiffness out of her legs and arms, feeling joints and muscles that had long gone untapped protest at being used again.

Clay, who had joined the other two since Court was in recess for lunch, nodded cheerfully as he set down his own. "You should appreciate this more," he said. "All the world's a stage, trial is just more so."

Paige blinked. "_What?_"

Clay picked up a fry and gesticulated with it. "Look, it's like I told the jury during opening arguments. There are no great Perry Mason or Ben Matlock moment where the Defense pulls out something the Prosecution has never seen. That's what all that pre-trial stuff was about. It was agreeing about everything including Janacek, Hancock, and I deciding the pool of pictures I could pull from to showcase Gagliano's carving set. That's the back-stage work, the stuff the audience doesn't get to see. Now it's just a couple of characters selling their versions of a story to a jury with the judge supposedly making sure both sides play fair."

"You implied Tony made me _Trigger!_" Paige said.

"Yep," Clay agreed cheerfully.

"You surprised Hancock with it," Paige said.

"I sure did," Clay said gleefully.

"That isn't something to joke about," Carol said harshly.

"But you said—"

"He said that nobody is going to sneak in a witness or evidence or something," Quinn intervened. "And he isn't. Not anymore than Hancock is. 'Surprise' in a trial, as rare as it is, is almost invariably what happens when someone realizes that something that they've seen the whole time isn't what they thought it is."

"Tony didn't cause me to trigger," Paige said.

"Can they prove what it is?" Clay asked.

"No," she said flatly…just as she had every other time they'd asked. "They could manufacture something."

"They could," Clay said calmly. "Just like we are out of Gagliano's insistence that he, quote, 'made' Bad Canary—"

Paige flinched at the sudden look of cold fury that flashed across Carol's face.

"—that he didn't mean for you to have a Master power, and all those internet searches on where powers come from. Not to mention all the times he watched 'Gaslighting.'"

"He was living in my apartment," Paige said. "He could say they were my searches."

"Did you know his password?" Clay asked. "Don't answer that."

_Yes_, Paige thought.

"I take it you didn't know about this…tactic?" Carol asked sourly.

Paige shook her head.

"I could have them disbarred, or at least reprimanded, for it if you want."

"This is a point of dramatic tension," Quinn said. "Don't look at me like that, Carol. Did you seriously not pick up any theatre courses in prelaw?"

"No," Carol said flatly.

"That explains so much," Clay said. He'd made progress on his fries and was now gesturing with one end of his sandwich while he ate at the other. "There are two types of witnesses. Lay witnesses are those who see or perceive something."

"Eyewitnesses," Paige said.

"Sure. Same thing. But people remember things differently. Have four people see the same thing, they'll remember different things. Not necessarily _wrong_, though that's really common, but their _focus_ will be different. And a good lawyer can make them seem unreliable to a jury."

"And then there are expert witnesses," Quinn said. "Scientists, for example. People with professional knowledge of a subject. They might not have direct and personal knowledge of the crime, but it's a lot harder to contradict science. Your agent is another, drawing on his professional experience setting up, running, and managing musical acts."

"They also tend to be dry, stuffy, and very, very _boring_," Clay said. "Eyewitnesses are a bit more engaging to audiences."

"Witness prep with experts is mostly about trying to make them seem personable," Carol said.

"That and not put the jury to sleep," Clay said. "Eyewitnesses is mostly about getting them to feel comfortable on the stand, and not get baited by the other side. Speaking of, Boss. Was Hancock an idiot or a genius with Gags?"

"Neither," Quinn said. "It would have been difficult to get through _without_ putting him on the stand. Putting him up first was getting him out of the way so that he'd be something the jury remembers as way back at the start of the trial, not that this will go on long enough for that to be a huge help."

"His witness prep was sub-pair," Clay said.

"There are some personalities that just don't prep well," Quinn said. "He's the lynchpin of the case. The star, if you will. Everything in the media has brought him the fame and money that he never got managing Canary. Honestly, I'm not sure why Hancock was surprised today if he wasn't able to train Gagliano _not_ to use a phrase that practically _begged_ us to imply he caused your trigger."

"Hancock could be willing to concede that Gagliano _did_ cause it," Clay said. "Or have solid evidence that however you _did_ get powers, Gagliano wasn't involved."

"Oh," Paige said softly. "I…no, he couldn't have that."

"Are you certain?" Quinn asked.

No, Paige wanted to say. But if she had to keep _them_ a secret, so did Hancock, presuming he knew…didn't he? "As sure as I can be," Paige said softly.

"Okay then," Clay said. "Well go with that. But getting back to why Hancock is an idiot then, you want your witnesses well-trained that they aren't going to repeat stupid phrases that will allow the other side to turn them so they poison your case. At the very least you don't want them to fly apart emotionally the way Gagliano did." Clay picked up another fry and held it up before him while he moved his sub into the background. "Ideally you want the witness to be the center of attention during direct," the sub sandwich passed into the foreground as he pulled the fry back, "and the lawyer to be the center of attention during the cross."

"Unless you can get the witness to self-destruct," Quinn said.

The fry swung back to the foreground, and Clay nodded happily as he sprinkled salt on it. "In which case you stand their pumping as much fuel into the fire as you can." He dunked it into a pool of ketchup, "because juries love the sight of blood almost as much as a shark does." He popped the fry into his mouth and chewed blissfully.

"Cross-examination sucks," Carol said bluntly. "It's why no lawyer wants their client on the stand. Even a mediocre lawyer can lead a witness into a logical trap for which there is no good answer."

"'Are you a liar?'" Paige quoted.

"Exactly," Clay said.

"And the part about my eyes?"

"Oh, that's pure bullshit," Clay said cheerfully. "You know it. We know it. Hancock knows it. Janacek knows it. The bailiffs, PRT agents, and Protectorate detail all know it. But the _jury_ doesn't know it. And the idiot said you didn't need words so I was able to ask him to choose between two possibilities, both of which were wrong, and he wasn't smart enough to figure out how to walk back what he said about your eyes without making himself look like a liar. Now the jury is thinking about why Hancock has you trussed up if the gag and bonds won't stop you. It's wondering about the show of force, and just how powerful you are. And Hancock either has to play into that, build up your threat potential, knowing that he's building his case on a foundation of sand that I will _happily_ direct a high-pressure hose on. Or he has to undercut his own witness and admit Gagliano exaggerated because without actual power testing there is no way he can conclusively 'prove' what your powers are. If he tries, we'll rip apart the brute rating and leave the jury wondering about the chains."

"Or he could do nothing," Carol said.

"Worst of both worlds," Clay disagreed. "It'll make Gagliano look like an even bigger idiot than he actually is, and Hancock an idiot for putting so much of the case on him. Even better, it'll make it look like Gagliano pulled one over on Hancock and then insinuate that if he could do that to a prosecutor who's seen it all, a young, naïve artist was no match."

"So what happens now?" Paige asked. "I mean, after this."

"Now is why people like Hancock _really_ hate prosecuting Masters, Thinkers, and Strangers," Quinn said. "Brute? Easy to see if someone picks up a car and throws it. Blaster? It is really obvious when they start flinging around freeze-rays, fire-breath, or pseudo-lasers. Master? He has to convince the jury that it was _you_ who directed Gagliano's actions, and not someone who overheard your argument and made a meat puppet out of him. Or that Gagliano did it to himself in a bizarre effort to pin a crime on you. And that'll be harder for him, because you gave what was a simple direction and what Gagliano did was _not_ simple.

"Of all the people-controllers, prosecutors hate those that give _objectives_ and leave it to their victims to figure out the 'how' more than any. It's subtle. It isn't flashy. It usually takes long enough that it can be hard to show that there wasn't another Master involved. And any overtly criminal actions _other_ than the Mastering are usually an artifact of the Mastered person's personality rather than Master's.

"You could have said you wanted a Rembrandt for your birthday. One person might have gone and bought you a poster of _Storm on the Sea of Galilee_. Another, commissioned a reproduction. A third, given you a ride down to Boston and tickets to the Gardner museum to see the real thing. And a fourth would have pulled a heist and tried to steal it."

"There are so many ways he could have fucked himself," Clay said. "Buying a dildo, or purchasing drugs from an undercover officer, soliciting an underage prostitute, walking into a bank and attempting to rob it… Toss in the people at Home Depot he talked to, the cashier and the person who helped him find tin snips. You didn't tell him not to tell anyone, after all. And he could have sped on his way home and attracted the attention of a cop."

"Isn't that blaming the victim?" Paige asked.

"Lawyers," Carol said. "It is, in this case, socially acceptable. A gutter tactic, but acceptable."

"Anything that makes Hancock's job harder, makes ours easier," Clay said. "Especially since we aren't arguing facts—you Mastered Gagliano—but rather degrees. If we can get the jury to apportion blame, it's less likely they'll go all in. If Janacek refuses to let them consider lesser charges, they'll be more likely to acquit entirely.

"But that's a sort of over-arching theme. What we need to push is that the PRT doesn't know the extent, or limitations, of your power. Ostensibly that's why you're still in the brute-gear. That goes both ways. If Hancock puts them on the stand and they say that Tony couldn't have done those things under your control, I can get them to say that it is also possible that he _could_ have done those things because they…don't…know."

"And if they do have a way of knowing my limits?"

"As Clay said, the brute gear comes off and the jury gets to see that he's manipulating them," Quinn said without hesitating.

"I should point out," Clay said. "Lawyers are always manipulating juries. We spoon-feed them facts that support the narrative we like, and undermine that of the other side. That's kind of the point. But juries that realize we're manipulating remember it in the deliberation room, even if they don't deliberately weigh it as evidence."

"Hence why Clay mentioned that bit about the Birdcage in his opening remarks even though the judge had it struck from the record?" Paige asked. "He was trying to influence the jury?"

"Exactly," Clay said, saluting her with yet another fry. "Hancock was always going to object. Janacek was always going to get it struck from the record and tell the jury to disregard it. It was prejudicial. Deliberately so. But is the jury going to _forget_ it when they're in the jury room? Probably not."

"It's stupid to bait judges like that," Carol said. But then she admitted grudgingly, "even if sometimes you have to."

Clay picked up his cup and slurped noisily, shook his cup so the ice rattled against the paper sides, gave it a disappointed look, and set it down with a dejected sigh. "On top of that, Janacek would know that he's being played. Oh, he 'knows' and is going on with it. But that's different from throwing it deliberately and blatantly in the face of a judge."

"What could he do?" Paige asked.

"Janacek? Best case for us? Charges dismissed with prejudice. Worst case for Hancock? Probably a mistrial with the case reassigned to a prosecute who declines to retry the case," Quinn said. "It amounts to much the same thing, but one is a bigger slap in his face than the other."


	3. Chapter 3

Worm is owned by John C. 'Wildbow' McCrae

* * *

At least Hancock hadn't called Will. Sitting through Tony's proudful boasting about how he'd made her, how Bad Canary was all his hard work and she was a greedy, spiteful bitch had been bad enough. She wasn't certain she could have taken it if Hancock had called Will and turned everything he said against her.

Paige gave up on trying to relax. The benches lining the halls of the court-house at least made a passing effort at trying to be comfortable. But waiting in the hall was, in its own way, even worse than sitting through trial. She looked at where Hancock stood with a tight little knot of suits as an obese, garishly-dressed man walked up and joined them.

"Who is that?" Paige wrote on the pad of paper before shoving it at Quinn. The gag had _hurt_, but it had been honest. The chains had been honest. Even the poisonous look in Janacek's eye as Clay asked for a mistrial after Janacek had assured everyone that the collar was more than sufficient to keep them safe from all of the powers that she may or may not have, and the venom as he denied it, had been honest. The Tinkertech collar Janacek had insisted she wear didn't look normal, but it wasn't woefully, cruelly out of place, and it wasn't obvious what it did either.

Unless she spoke. The hideous, dry rasping croak it turned her voice into made it sound like she'd smoked four packs of cigarettes a day for forty years, and then bathed her vocal chords in acid and dried them with fire for good measure. It was much less demoralizing to simply write out notes than subject herself to her own voice.

Janacek had put court into recess for an early Friday afternoon, and she was sitting with Quinn and Clay on the bench across from his chambers. They were flanked by the two members of the Protectorate assigned as guards, with a squad of armored PRT agents toting tanks of containment foam standing on the other side of the hall.

"That," Quinn said, "is Glen Chambers. The PRT's Director of Image."

"You wanted _that_ as a witness?" she croaked in surprise.

"Oh, yeah." For a very brief moment the look on Quinn Calle's face could have made Jaws reconsider its commitment to a seal-less diet. "Well," he said, "this should be interesting."

"Right," Janacek said once both legal teams, Paige, and Glen Chambers were in his chambers with the door closed. "Mr. Calle, you wanted Director Chambers as a witness. He's in town for the weekend and I've ordered him to make himself available out of his _very_ limited free time."

"With all due thanks to Director Chambers," Quinn said evenly. "But unless the Prosecution intends to rest in the very near future…"

"I'll be calling Glen as my next witness on Monday morning," Hancock said.

"Will that suffice, Mr. Calle?" Janacek asked.

"He's going to destroy Mcabee's attempts to distance herself from the Simurgh," Hancock commented, "and describe how her chosen profession had clearly been designed to give her as many victims as possible."

Quinn ignored the other attorney. "With respect, Judge Janacek, but no it is not. If the Prosecution intended to direct examine Director Chambers then the appropriate time to inform us was before trial began—"

"This court was unaware of Director Chambers' availability—"

"Unforeseen business brought me here," Chambers said. "I was supposed to be in Tampa this weekend."

"—until the last moment," Janacek said.

"—and even if they too wanted to call Director Chambers, a cross-examination is _not_ the direct I wanted, even under hostile witness rules."

"Noted," Janacek said.

"We've had no chance to depose or prepare for this witness."

"You'll have two hours of Director Chambers' time tomorrow morning," Janacek said.

"Witnesses and evidence are supposed to be disclosed prior to the start of trial."

"You disclosed Director Chambers as a potential witness," Janacek said.

"But the State did not," Quinn said simply. "But if those _concerns_ are noted in the record, I have no objection to Mr. Chambers being called."

"Fine," Janacek glanced at Hancock who shook his head. "Director Chambers, deposition at seven tomorrow morning. I'm sorry for the hour but it should allow you to make that appointment? Court on Monday morning."

"If I must," Chambers sighed.

"Short meeting, good," Janacek grunted.

"If it would help and be convenient, we could do the deposition here? It shouldn't take more than ten minutes if we can find a stenographer."

"That would be most beneficial," Chambers agreed.

"Sure," Hancock sounded almost amused by the idea.

"Okay, fine," Janacek said. "This should be entertaining at least." He picked up the phone on his desk.

Five minutes later a woman in a suit walked in. She set up a laptop on a side table, then took out a machine that looked like a laptop with an undersized screen and too few keys, and Director Chambers was duly sworn in.

"As Director of Image you are responsible for seeing that the Protectorate and Wards as a whole, and individually, get good PR," Quinn said.

"Among other things."

"Over seeing charity events, press conferences, costume design, name choice, equipment selection, the personas capes use, even the methodology in which they use their powers?"

"Of course."

"This extends to social media. Making sure that they get good coverage, or aren't self-sabotaging themselves on PHO?"

"Yes."

"Ensuring the PHO cape wiki is up to date and accurate?"

"As accurate as it can be, yes," Chambers agreed with a nod. "There are limitations, of course."

"New capes," Quinn said. "Incomplete power readings?"

"Yes, to both."

"Do you misinform the public about capes?"

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

"Mislabeled or misrepresented powers, called a Striker that zeros the inertia of anything that touches her a Brute because she can bounce bullets or thrown cars, for example."

Chambers shook his head. "doing so would be detrimental. As soon as it was discovered it would undermine the hero, and create distrust between the civilian populace and the people charged with keeping it safe. It would also create unneeded and unnecessary tension between the PRT and Protectorate."

"And, of course, villains read the wiki too. A technique that would neutralize our hypothetical Brute might well cripple or kill a Striker. Now you have a possibly dead hero, a cape who might have been salvageable as a hero instead up on murder charges, and a potential lawsuit from any surviving family for putting said Striker in more danger; also the issues of perception and the like."

"Among other things, yes."

"So you don't misinform the public about ratings, or make a deliberate choice _not_ to correct them when they make an error in power classification?" Quinn asked.

"Not deliberately, but in something as large and complex as the Protectorate mistakes do happen."

"What about the Wards?"

"Them too."

"Tell me about Gallant," Quinn said.

"I'm sorry, who?" Chambers asked.

"Gallant, a Ward in Brockton Bay," Carol interjected.

Chambers shook his head. "The Protectorate is so large, I don't remember every cape—"

"That's fine," Quinn said. "It just so happens that I have my tablet here… Gallant's PHO wiki page," he said. "I'd like this entered as Defense exhibit PHO-One. Your Honor, if you could print us off a couple copies?"

Janacek rolled his eyes, but tapped at his computer and a moment later a high-speed printer began to discharge sheets of paper into its out-tray. Pages were passed to Janacek, to Hancock, to the Stenographer who made notes, and finally to Glen Chambers who paged through them.

"Do these help?" Quinn asked pleasantly.

"Oh," Chambers said.

"This says Gallant is a Tinker, power armored and massless kinetic energy blasts that impart empathic residue," Janacek said.

"So?" Hancock asked.

Chambers sighed theatrically.

"So," Quinn said, "I have an affidavit from Gallant that says his power armor was purchased from local Tinkers, and that he was deliberately coached by Director Chambers to pass himself off as another Tinker. Not outright lie, mind you, but to let people make a wrong conclusion and then not contradict it. Parenthetically, I don't know about any of you but it seems to my cursory understanding of the language, but 'deliberate' and 'mistake' seem fairly antithetical to each other."

He paused, as though daring Janacek or Hancock to dispute the point. When none came he shrugged and went on.

"The affidavit also says that his true ability is a Blaster/Master/Thinker. He can shoot kinetic blasts that force those struck to experience emotions that he selects. He can also read the emotions of those he meets. The latter power he was specifically told to not mention as people would find it intrusive."

"Nice try, but you didn't put Gallant on your witness list," Hancock said. "Just try getting that into the record."

"Dean Stansfield _is_ on my witness list," Quinn said. "We sat through your deposition of him together."

Hancock's face blanched in fury. "And you want to accuse me of trial by ambush?"

"Of course not," Quinn said. "I'm calling someone with relevant experience to refute _your_ witness. You had every chance to depose Mr. Stansfield. For that matter, we _did_ sit through that deposition. If you screwed up the questions that's on you."

"Pretty words for someone threatening to unmask a _Ward_!"

"We weren't going to bring up his parahuman identity at all," Quinn said. "The details of who he is, and even his powers, aren't necessary for him to be able to refute Director Chambers. No offense."

"None taken," Chambers said dryly. "It was very beautifully done."

"This is almost as outrageous a claim as your unseemly insinuation that _her_ victim caused her trigger event!"

Sudden curiosity forced Paige to croak: "Can you prove he didn't?"

He couldn't of course. Not unless he could prove that _they_ existed. (Paige shivered just thinking about it). Or unless they manufactured it somehow.

"I don't answer to you," Hancock sneered. He turned to Janacek. "Your Honor, this is ridiculous. Mr. Gagliano is _her_ victim, why is he suddenly the one on trial?"

"Enough," Janacek said. "All of you." His eyes flicked at each of the lawyers. "Mr. Hancock, you will no doubt be relieved but evidence that Mr. Gagliano caused the Defendant's trigger event would be unduly prejudicial against the State's case."

"Thank you, your Honor."

"That's okay, Mr. Hancock," Carol said sweetly. "I'll come for any evidence you have regarding Paige's trigger event during discovery for my lawsuit."

"Mrs. Dallon," Janacek said icily, "I am talking."

"Of course, Your Honor."

"Mr. Calle, we'll come back to the matter of…Gallant, Stansfield, whichever, in a moment. Director Chambers, are you aware of any such…tampering in regards to the Defendant's power classification or ratings?"

Chambers shook his head. "Before today the only contact I've had with Canary is what I've seen in the news."

"So you would describe the recent…reevaluation of her power as incomplete power analysis?"

"Testing, yes," Chambers said.

"Director Chambers," Quinn said, staring at Janacek. "Is it possible that one of your people in the local office, entirely without your knowledge, was less than truthful when they did the summation of Canary's power?"

"It's possible," Chambers agreed. "I would think it more likely that testing is still incomplete."

"Director Chambers, how much time is required for the PRT to gain an adequate understanding of one parahuman's power?"

"That would depend on the nature of the powers in question," Chambers said. "I'm not familiar enough with hers or the particulars of her testing to say."

"Paige Mcabee has been in PRT/Protectorate custody since she was arrested early last fall," Quinn said. "This trial has been delayed ostensibly so that testing could be done to ensure adequate safeguards during said trial. Given the recent reevaluation which seems most likely to you, that whoever was doing the testing deliberately falsified her power classification and rating, they managed to display a truly amazing level of incompetence without being called on it, or a Brute-classification is so mind-bendingly complex that the PRT is _still_ unsure of whether or not it exists?"

"Your Honor," Hancock said. "I'm going to need time to prep this witness, and I'm sure the Defense will demand more than two hours to make a thorough deposition. Without a chance to prep I can only guess, but say plan a day's worth of testimony from the State, plus however much longer the Defense needs?"

"I'm done with this deposition," Quinn said. "I'm not sure where you're getting a full day of testimony out of."

"I need to be in San Diego Tuesday morning," Chambers interrupted. "That's on top of my job this weekend, and after inconveniencing a number of very important people to give you all of Monday."

"Can your Tuesday meeting be delayed?" Janacek asked.

"I'm afraid it cannot," Chambers said. "And it absolutely requires my presence."

"In that case I don't think we have a choice," Janacek said. "I won't cripple the State by demanding they don't take sufficient time to prepare. And I can't very well put this court into recess, not with a jury in seclusion, until you're available again. I'm going to drop this witness. Thank you offering to be available, Director. I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"I understand, Your Honor," Chambers said as he stood.

"I think," Quinn said in a very cold voice, "that at this point we need to go _off_ the record."

As Paige watched, both Janacek and Hancock's faces lost color—Hancock into something like day-old oatmeal, but Janacek's was closer to gristle—as they darted looks towards the stenographer. For her part the stenographer had lifted her hands from the funny little laptop, folded them in her lap, and was now watching the room with a rather bored expression.

"Anyone feel like revisiting those plea offers?" Clay asked as Chambers very quietly sat back down.

"She pleads guilty to sexual assault with a parahuman ability—"

"Not happening," Quinn said.

"And I'll not recommend the Birdcage," Hancock finished.

"Not. Happening," Quinn said. "An ambush witness, and then trying to excuse a witness the defense wanted to call when you realized that witness was an impediment to the State's case?"

"Director Chambers has responsibilities," Janacek said.

"As does this court," Quinn said in a very soft tone. "One of which is to ensure the availability of witnesses for the accused. And there are methods for redress when those responsibilities are not met."

"If you think I'm about to let you intimidate my court with a lawsuit—"

"Your Honor," Quinn interrupted, "the only thing _I_ am going to threaten you and Mr. Hancock with are reporting you both to the Board of Judicial Conduct and the Bar respectively."

"_I'm_ the one who is handling the lawsuits," Carol added, her tone as close to cheerful as Paige had ever heard it.

Janacek, whose face had gone mottled in fury, half rose from behind his desk when Quinn stated.

"I think we're ready to go back on the record."

"No we—"

Quinn raised a finger and Janacek froze.

Paige darted a quick look at the stenographer who had her hands on that funny little keyboard again. "The Defense will concede that the State has demonstrated that Paige Mcabee _may_ have exerted some parahuman influence, and that the Defense has not yet absolutely refuted that assertion. However, the State has not—and _cannot_—prove in fact that she is solely responsible for all of Mr. Gagliano's injuries owing to inadequate and incomplete power testing and analysis on the part of the PRT and Protectorate. Furthermore, the Defense would point out that Paige Mcabee gained her powers in early 2009 and worked more than a year as a public performing artist without any Master powers being evident. Mr. Gagliano's assertions aside, no evidence that Paige was Mastering entire audiences to boost her popularity has been established in the record, let alone turned over to the Defense as part of discovery."

Hancock reluctantly shook his head.

"For the record, please?" Quinn asked formally.

Hancock's jaw worked for a moment, "the State is aware of no such evidence."

"Thank you," Quinn said. "It has been established that parahumans, aside from certain Trumps like Eidolon, do not gain new powers over time. The Defense has a year and a half of public performances that Paige is _not_ a Master. The State has one example…and no effort made to explain the delay—"

"Obviously she obtained a fluency with her powers," Hancock interrupted.

"When?" Quinn asked. "With whom? For that matter, Mr. Gagliano was her manager, coach, live-in boyfriend… When did she have _time_ to achieve that level of skill without him knowing said power even _existed_? And that's not getting into his remarks on the stand about making her _everything_ she is."

Hancock didn't reply.

"There was minimal investigation done to determine if there were any other suspects. Indeed, the entire State's case seems to rest on Mr. Gagliano's statement that Paige is a Master."

"We have supportive statements from both Hunch and Eleventh Hour."

"Was that disclosed to the Defense?" Quinn asked.

"Mr. Calle," Janacek said. "Thinker evidence has to be validated independently of parahuman powers to be entered into the record."

"It is material to the case, regardless of whether or not it can go into the record," Quinn said. "Even if we momentarily assume such statements are truthful, it does not mean they are factual. Nor does it mean that even _if_—please note the emphasis on 'if'—Paige does possess a Master-type ability—which the Defense does _not_ concede—it does not necessarily follow that she used it in this case. In short, the Defense cannot help but note that it appears inadequate consideration was given to both investigating and disproving the possibility that a Master _other_ than Paige was involved.

"Additionally, as further evidence of the same systemic inadequacies, Paige Mcabee has been repeatedly paraded in front of the jury in inappropriate restrictive equipment—"

"She could well be a Brute," Hancock said.

"Actually," Clay said, "what she has is an aura that one-hundred percent guarantees that everyone who comes within a hundred thousand miles of her will die. I, for one, am not sure _how_ I'll die, you understand, or even one. It could be Quinn's next client gets lucky, or it could be in my own bed at age ninety with a French hooker named—well, that isn't important. What's important is that I am quite certain that I will eventually die." He paused. "Kill aura," he said with a snap of his fingers, "the similarities to Simurgh are intended to distract from her similarity to _Behemoth_."

"You have no foundation that she _is_ a Brute," Quinn said as though Calle hadn't. "Assume facts not in evidence. Did one of your Thinkers chalk up an unverified Brute rating, and the Defense has not been informed of such?"

"Eleventh Hour did not discount one."

"Did he not discount one because he wasn't certain if there was one, or has he not discounted one because he was never asked?" Quinn asked in return. "Regardless, the restraints of unverified and unproven necessity, which have already changed once and in close conjunction with witness testimony as to create the implication of powers that even the State isn't suggesting she has, are problematic and prejudicial. Additionally, the PRT and Protectorate were given a great deal of time to address these very concerns, to the point where Paige's trial was delayed until after the appearance of the Simurgh and very public quarantining of Canberra, despite the gross similarities in surface appearance and power between Paige and said Endbringer. Therefore, the defense moves to dismiss all charges with prejudice."

Quinn paused. "Is her," he tilted his head slightly towards the stenographer, "record sufficient or do you want me to ask Clay to lay that all out again in court on Monday morning?"

* * *

March was bright. Cold, yes, with a dry wind that sliced through her clothes like daggers. But it was the bright sun that clawed through Paige's squinting eyes, and the hand she'd raised to protect them, and beat against her retinas. The cold air sucked moisture from her sinuses and mouth, and made her lungs burn.

"If I should leave here, tomorrow, would you still remember me…" In deference to the humans next to her and the fact that it was the steps of a _courthouse_, she softly spoke the words instead of singing the notes.

It was _glorious_.

"How about it, Glenn," Clay's voice had a wry humor at her choice of song. "One popstar, slightly used?"

"After the way Hancock vilified her in the press?" Chambers asked. "It'd be an interesting challenge at the very least. And even then… No offense, m'dear," he said to Paige, "but I think that if you were the kind to be interested in law enforcement you would have approached the Protectorate long before you got in trouble."

Paige's whispered voice was harsh, but it was harsh from free air rather than a lack of use or tinkertech. "I only ever wanted to sing."

"Sometimes, Director Chambers," a pleasant tenor colored with mingled amusement and mild reproach, "we help people because it is the right thing to do."

Paige blinked as a blob of sunlight lobed off and split from the rest, and then resolved into a very fit man wearing a blue and silver bodysuit.

"Legend," Quinn said, "meet Canary. Canary, Legend."

"Paige," Paige said. "I'm… I think I'm done with Canary. At least for a little while."

"That's understandable," Legend agreed. "Have you any ideas about what you want to do?"

"Not the Protectorate," Paige said definitively, and added a hurried "no offense."

"None taken."

"I want…" There were so _many_ songs she hadn't been able to sing. Not just her songs, but any songs. A fragment full of emotion all twisted up into a painful knot came immediately to mind, and forcing herself to _speak_ and not _sing_ the words was every bit as painful as the gag. "'The greatest happiness he ever found was making Russian children glad.'"

"'When children lived in Leningrad,'" Legend finished, and that he knew the words and chose to speak them was every bit as glorious as walking out of the courthouse. "I think we can manage that." He looked at Quinn, then back to her. "Are you retaining Mr. Calle as your legal counsel?"

"I'm an expert in parahuman criminal law," Quinn said with a smile. "But I have some people in my firm who handle corporate work,."

"I'm sure you do," Legend said with a shake of his head. "Your lawyer is amoral as they come, Paige."

"I object," Quinn intoned, not sounding at all affronted by the accusation. "I am a _very_ moral lawyer." His voice became very soft. "I believe the operative words are: 'In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.'"

Legend breathed in through his nose and his tone became very formal. "I apologize, Mr. Calle."

Quinn just shrugged.

"You don't need to represent villains," Carol commented.

"Point one, they are more likely to be in need of the services that I provide than most. Two, they can pay better than most. And three, I am very good at what I do. Are you suggesting that they don't deserve competent counsel?"

Carol shook her head. "I'm done dealing with you, Quinn. Paige," she said brusquely, "call me whenever you decide to sue those bastards." She nodded once and walked away.

* * *

"I'll say this for these Protectorate chaps," Will's rough bass was wonderfully familiar and yet almost foreign after months of confinement, "they don't stint on hardware."

Paige looked through the window of the booth. "Are you sure—"

"You ran public for almost a year before the Asshole—" he had _never_ used Tony's name, but the irreverent nickname he'd taken to using before Tony had even forced his presence back into her life, struck Paige as both hysterically amusing and utterly inappropriate considering everything that had happened "—without enslaving an audience except by being just that damn good. So first we work off recordings and if we can't replicate it, if we can't then we go to broadcast, and if that doesn't do anything we can start talking about live performances again. Legend has his own list of tests in case it's something like how tired you are, or the state of your hair, or in proportion to how big of an asshole someone is being. For that matter it could have been someone else at the club—"

"It was me," Paige said.

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure," she admitted. "Not…everything he did, but just for him to go away." And fuck himself.

"Fine," he said. "Any other last-minute jitters or can we start the test?"

"Just, ah, the only concern I had," she said. "Are you sure you can work the equipment? You aren't a sound tech."

Will looked at her through the window and made a rude gesture. "How hard can it be to hit a 'record' button?"

He held up a thumb.

Paige echoed it, her eyes slipping closed as music filled the headphones she was wearing.

For the first time since her arrest, Paige let herself _sing!_

"_My life flows on in endless song, above the Earth's lamentations…_"

* * *

Also referenced:

_Free Bird_ by Lynyrd Skynyrd

_Leningrad_ by Billy Joel

_How Can I Keep from Singing?_ by Robert Lowry

Quinn quotes the Sixth Amendment to the United States Constitution

* * *

A/N: And so this little trip ends. I'd actually written out courtroom scenes for both Glen and Dean (both direct and cross), and roughed out some really great closing arguments. The problem with that route (and the reason I decided not to go it) was that 1) the examination was _incredibly_ repetitive. 2) I couldn't decide which way a jury would go (Paige did, actually, Master her ex, and it was the _judge_ who imposed the Birdcage). I could have ended it with the jury going into deliberations, but I felt the story deserved an actual _resolution_. 3) Quinn is too damn good at his job to leave things up in the air. If he couldn't convince a jury to go his way, he would have found a way to make the jury irrelevant (and thus, blame the PRT and ask for charges to be dismissed).

I ran into two problems that I wanted to address. First, the trial itself. While the judge in Worm went overboard in sending Paige to the Birdcage, she had actually been convicted on _two_ counts (aggravated and sexual assault, each with a parahuman ability, and the latter goes against the Unwritten Rules), and it was noted during the PRT directors' conference (I think it was by Armstrong), that the rationale has been slipping and the Birdcage population has been increasing because of it (so at this point down to convictions on two _counts_ rather than three separate incidents with multiple bodies, or whatever the original threshold was, I had Assault bring it up in 'Birds and Bees' and felt no need to rehash it here). So, my read was that her canon sentence was more indicative of degradation in the system than 'cage all the Masters' type conspiracy or gross misconduct by the prosecution and judge, and that the egregious fault was in her inadequate counsel (well, that and the judge not making sure said counsel was doing his job adequately).

Second, and more pressing, issue I ran into was Paige's powers. If everyone that hears her sing is subject to extremely literal hyper-suggestibility, why did it take over a _year_ for someone to notice that there was a Problem? She was working as a performing artist that whole time! Even if she only did a couple shows a night to an audience of a hundred, we are still talking about _multiple _thousands affected in that time. In all probability it was more since she was considered a breakout artist (part of the ex's coming back was she had money, artists are usually called 'starving' for a reason), and that doesn't even get into the whole issue of whether or not you believe Spur remembering her two+ years after being sent to the birdcage.


End file.
